


never let you fall

by asael



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, First Time, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-17
Updated: 2020-01-17
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:07:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22292329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asael/pseuds/asael
Summary: Marianne tells Hilda a secret while they're alone together. Hilda thinks she'd like to help out with it.Written for Marihilda Week, day 6, 'confession'.
Relationships: Marianne von Edmund/Hilda Valentine Goneril
Comments: 26
Kudos: 293





	never let you fall

It starts with a game. A teasing game, the kind Hilda likes to play sometimes, whether innocent or not. The kind of game that can make Marianne blush or laugh, or sometimes sigh softly over the confidences she’s been given. Still, deep down, amazed that this sort of friendship is something she can have.

This time the game is _Tell me something you’ve never told anyone else._

They’re curled together on Hilda’s bed. It’s nighttime, and only candles light the room. Outside is the rest of the world, outside is a war they all wish they weren’t fighting, outside is pain and misery and little spots of hope here and there. But inside - inside it’s warm and safe, inside it’s just the two of them. Just Marianne and Hilda. They’ve already shared dinner and tea, and Marianne knows she should go back to her own room soon, but she doesn’t want to leave this place. Doesn’t want to face the next day.

So Hilda starts the game. “When I was little,” she says, “I used to sneak into Holst’s room and sew little flowers on the inside hem of his shirts. Just a few stitches, something simple and easy. I thought they were good luck charms, and as long as he was wearing a shirt with a flower I sewed, he would be safe.”

Marianne smiles at the thought of that. Hilda, so small and certain, trying her very best to keep her brother safe. “You don’t know that it didn’t work.”

Hilda laughs, quiet but genuine. “Hey, I guess you’re right about that. He probably still has some of those shirts, too.” She nudges Marianne’s arm with her elbow. “Your turn.”

Marianne thinks it over. There’s so many things she’s never told anyone, so many quiet and simple secrets. Most of them are meaningless, though, and she wants to give Hilda something real. How could she not want to do that, when Hilda has given her so much already?

So she offers up a real secret. One that she’s carried for a very long time, one that she knows will be safe with Hilda, one that - perhaps - she would only ever tell this woman. “I’ve never, um. I’ve never had a lover.”

Hilda looks at her. She doesn’t look surprised, but she does look - actually, she looks a little annoyed. Marianne immediately wonders if she shouldn’t have said that, if she’s done something wrong, but those fears are quickly washed away. “People are so stupid sometimes. I mean, just look at you! Those pretty eyes, that cute nose - you should have all the lovers you can handle. You should have guys fighting over you, Marianne.”

“Oh - no.” Marianne shakes her head, certain of this, at least. “I don’t want anyone fighting over me. I don’t even know if I want. Um. Guys.” There’s more to it than that, of course, but even that alone is almost more than she can get out.

“Oh,” Hilda says, and she doesn’t sound bothered. She doesn’t sound anything, in fact, except… considering. And she’s still looking at Marianne, and Marianne can’t quite manage to look back at her.

Hilda is the only one she could ever tell something like that to, because Hilda is the only one whose opinion about it matters. Hilda, after all, is the reason Marianne has figured any of this out at all.

She was so afraid of being around people for so long. Afraid of being hated, being feared. Afraid of hurting someone. But all her friends, all the people in the Golden Deer classroom - they didn’t hate her. They didn’t fear her. And Hilda, more than anyone, showed Marianne that she wasn’t going to hurt anyone. Showed her that, and showed her true friendship, and more.

And now here they are, years later, and sometimes Marianne thinks that she has only lived this long because she met people like Hilda. Like Claude, Lorenz, Lysithea, all the others - but mostly Hilda.

Always Hilda.

“No lovers,” Hilda says, and there’s something in her voice now. “Marianne, have you ever kissed anybody?”

Marianne is afraid to feel hope now, afraid that she is hearing something that isn’t there. She looks at Hilda and her face feels hot. She knows she’s blushing. “I never have. But I’d like to.” The last part comes out quietly, so quietly that she’s sure Hilda can only hear it because she’s leaning so close, close enough that Marianne can feel the warmth of her body, though they aren’t quite touching.

“Okay,” Hilda says, and her voice is gentle in that way she only ever seems to be with Marianne. “Can I kiss you, then?”

And for a moment Marianne thinks she’s imagined it. She thinks it’s impossible that Hilda could have said that, she thinks she must be dreaming. She’s certain she’s had this exact dream before. But there Hilda is, next to her, as real as anything, and Marianne has not misheard her. She has not imagined anything.

“Yes,” she breathes, because there’s nothing else she can possibly say or do.

Hilda takes her hand first. Her skin is soft - of course it is, Marianne is well aware of Hilda’s multi-step skin care routine - but somehow it feels softer than ever, softer than anything. Marianne’s fingers tangle with Hilda’s without thinking, and this isn’t the first time they’ve held hands, but it means more. It means something.

Then Hilda leans in, brushes a wisp of hair out of Marianne’s face, and kisses her.

Her lips are soft and sweet. She still tastes a little like the rose petal blend they drank earlier. Her fingers are on Marianne’s cheek, gentle, tilting Marianne’s face to her. The kiss doesn’t last long, but the world seems to stop around them, until there’s nothing but Hilda’s lips on hers.

The kiss is relatively chaste, but when Hilda pulls away Marianne feels hot, flushed, and like - like she wants more. Like one kiss wasn’t enough, like now that she knows what Hilda tastes like she isn’t going to ever have her fill.

Hilda is looking at her.

Marianne wonders if that’s it. If this is all she’ll ever have, one kiss and Hilda’s friendship, and if that will have to be enough.

She realizes, suddenly, that it wouldn’t be enough.

“Can I kiss you again?” she asks, and she almost can’t believe she’s said it, but the smile on Hilda’s face is proof enough.

“Marianne,” Hilda says, her voice warm and sweet and affectionate, “you can kiss me anytime you want.”

And so she does, because there’s no way she could do anything else, because it’s all she wants to do right now.

Her kisses are clumsy at first, but Hilda is patient and happy to teach her by example. At first there’s a part of Marianne that’s worried, that’s frightened Hilda is only doing this as a favor to her, only doing it because Marianne hasn’t done it before and Hilda is her friend, wants to help her. It would be so like Hilda to do something like that. But then Marianne feels Hilda’s hand settle on her upper arm, pulling her closer. Their kisses deepen, and she knows she’s not the only one causing that. Hilda is leaning into her, silently asking for more, and Marianne feels a surge of joy.

And so she gives Hilda more, tentatively slipping her tongue into Hilda’s mouth. She’s met with a sound of pleasure, and Hilda’s tongue sliding against her own, and it’s _strange_ , but - not bad. Not bad at all.

Marianne has never done this before, it’s true. But she’s not entirely sheltered. She’s an adult, and she more or less knows how these things are supposed to work - not specifics, maybe, especially not for two women, but in general? That much she knows.

She hesitates, at first, still uncertain. But she trusts Hilda more than anyone, and part of that is knowing that if she does anything Hilda doesn’t like, goes too far, asks for anything Hilda doesn’t want to give, that Hilda will make it very clear. And that’s - frightening too, of course, the idea that she could do that, but reassuring as well. Whatever else may happen, she is safe here.

And so she allows herself to reach out. She only rests her hand on Hilda’s waist at first, but then - so tentatively - she moves her hand upward, sliding over the fine fabric of the nightgown Hilda is wearing until Marianne’s fingers brush the curve of Hilda’s breast.

She can’t go farther. She can’t quite make herself, and then Hilda pulls back, and Marianne freezes. Has she gone too far?

Hilda looks at her, eyes steady on her face but gaze soft, and then her hand covers Marianne’s. She moves it up, until Marianne is cupping her breast properly, until her thumb brushes Hilda’s nipple, hard with arousal.

“Is this okay?” she asks, and her voice is as gentle as her hand. Hilda can be pushy and brash and selfish, but she never seems to show that side of herself with Marianne - especially when it’s just the two of them. She’s always reaching out, helping, being a good friend and - and whatever this is.

“Yes,” Marianne says, and her voice is breathless. She is blushing, she can’t stop. She moves her thumb over Hilda’s nipple, stroking it, watching the way Hilda’s eyes darken with pleasure. “How far…” She trails off, and luckily Hilda seems to understand what she wants to ask.

“You can go as far as you want,” Hilda says. “I mean… I know what I want.” And now she smiles, and it’s sweet and a little sharp at the same time. “I want to be your first, Marianne. I want to show you how good it can be. But we don’t have to - not ever, if you don’t want to, or not tonight, if you’re not ready yet.” She reaches out, stroking her perfectly painted nails down Marianne’s cheek. 

It’s difficult for Marianne to hear, in truth. She’s admired Hilda for so long - since they first met, really, since she first began to understand who Hilda was. That admiration was never solely friendship, but she’d long ago pushed that down, told herself that it could never happen. She had believed it could never happen with _anyone_ , but especially not with Hilda, Hilda who was so beautiful, so smart, so strong.

She hadn’t even considered it for years, buried it deep within herself. But when they met again - well, things are different now. Marianne wants to live, Marianne wants to believe that she can have more than a cursed life.

And she wants Hilda.

“I want to be with you,” she says, and her voice is so soft it’s a tiny miracle that Hilda hears her. But Hilda’s lips curl into a grin, and then she’s leaning forward to kiss Marianne, as sweet and perfect as the first time.

Hilda’s fingers rest on her hip. Marianne is wearing only her shift, her overdress neatly folded on Hilda’s chair. For comfort, she’d thought, and in case she fell asleep here - but now she’s just glad there are fewer layers between the two of them.

“Let’s get this off,” Hilda says, her thoughts following the same path as Marianne’s. Marianne nods, her face flaming, but her embarrassment doesn’t stop her. She sits up and pulls away, catching the fabric of her shift and pulling it overhead, off, leaving her in nothing but her underthings.

Hilda’s eyes are on her, and Marianne thinks she might see - something like hunger in them. It’s incredible, impossible to think about, but when Hilda reaches out to touch her there’s no hesitation, not even for a moment.

“Goddess, you’re beautiful,” Hilda says, and then she is pressing her lips to Marianne’s skin. Her shoulder first, the curve of it, and then her collarbone. Then down further, until her lips are at the top of Marianne’s breasts. With one finger, she tugs the strap of Marianne’s bra off her shoulder, letting it slide down her arm, letting her breast spill out of the cup.

Hilda looks up at her then, making sure everything is still all right, and whatever she sees in Marianne’s face - she likes it. A smile curves her lips, just a touch devilish, and then she’s bending down again and taking Marianne’s nipple in her mouth.

Marianne gasps. Hilda’s mouth is warm and wet, and she wraps her perfect pink lips around Marianne’s nipple and sucks. Her tongue flickers out, brushing across the very tip, and Marianne feels it all through her body. She can’t help moving, shifting, the pleasure of it warming her. 

She can feel her panties growing wet with desire. It’s embarrassing, but - it feels right, too, the heat growing between her legs because of Hilda.

Hilda tugs her other strap off, and now both of Marianne’s breasts are free. Hilda’s hand moves to cup one of them, to tease and tug at her nipple while her mouth works at the other. Marianne realizes suddenly that she’s making noise, soft sounds of pleasure, gasps and moans. She wouldn’t be able to stop herself even if she wanted, so instead she reaches out. 

Her fingers slide through Hilda’s pink hair, down to her back, her shoulder, her arm. Marianne doesn’t really know what to touch, where to touch, she just knows that she _wants_ to touch, wants it with an intensity she can’t deny.

And so when Hilda’s other hand drifts down her belly, when it dips beneath the cloth of her panties, down to the core of her - Marianne catches her wrist.

“No,” she says, and flushes at her own audacity. The truth is she wants that, she does, very much, but -

Hilda instantly pulls back. “Sorry. A little too fast?”

“No,” Marianne says again, and she’s been blushing this entire time but now she feels like she’s on fire, like she can’t believe she’s saying this but she _is_. “I want to do it to you.”

Hilda’s eyes widen, and then she smiles, a wide and genuine thing. “Ooh, Marianne! I like this naughty side of you.” She leans in one more time, pressing a kiss to the top of Marianne’s breast, now shining spit-slick from Hilda’s mouth. Then she moves away, but only far enough to take off her nightgown.

And Hilda, unlike Marianne, is wearing nothing beneath.

She’s beautiful, she’s _so_ beautiful, from her perfect breasts to her round hips to the neat patch of hair between her legs. Marianne has seen Hilda wearing very little before, while changing or swimming, but she’s never seen _all_ of her like this, and she finds it very hard to look away.

Luckily, she doesn’t need to. Hilda doesn’t mind her looking, seems to _like_ it, even, and Goddess - what a thought that is. Hilda leans back against her pillows, smiling, and stretches slowly, her breasts moving with the stretch. She settles back and spreads her legs, and - Marianne can’t stop looking.

She wants _so_ much.

“Come here,” Hilda says, sweet and coy, and she reaches out to reel Marianne in as Marianne goes to her. They kiss. Marianne touches her tentatively at first, exploring her - her stomach, her waist, her hips. Then up to the curve of her breast, the spot where Marianne’s fingers pressed before except now there’s no fabric between them, there’s just Hilda’s smooth skin. 

She’s clumsier than Hilda, less certain of what she’s doing, but she’s so captivated she barely notices. She cups Hilda’s breasts in her hands and then leans close, pressing her mouth to the skin there, daringly taking Hilda’s nipple into her mouth. Her skin smells like the soap she uses, floral and expensive, but it tastes like - it tastes like Hilda somehow, like her own impossible existence, everything that has always drawn Marianne in.

Marianne realizes that Hilda is sighing in pleasure, that she’s arching against Marianne’s mouth, that she likes what Marianne is doing - this careful exploration, this slow study of Hilda’s body. She thinks that Hilda will probably let her take as long as she needs, will probably give her time, space, all those tiny things that Hilda has always done for her.

But what she wants, what she really wants, is to make Hilda feel good.

So she lets her fingers trail downwards. She’s uncertain, she’s never done this before, but Marianne does not allow her nervousness to conquer her. She’s allowed that far too many times in her life, and sometimes she thinks back and considers all the opportunities she’s lost, all the friendships and possibilities she ended before they could flower. When she was younger, she considered that natural - she was cursed, of course that was how things would go.

But now she thinks it was a self-fulfilling prophecy. It happened because she thought it would happen. Now, she can make something else happen if she wants. She can resist her fear, reach for what she wants.

Hilda.

Her fingers reach the slick wetness between Hilda’s legs. Some part of her is surprised, as if she didn’t expect Hilda to be turned on - but there it is, and it’s real. Marianne slides her fingers into Hilda’s folds, careful at first because it’s not like touching herself. She’s done that enough to know what she likes, but this is Hilda, and somehow it’s so much different. So much better.

“Is this okay?” she says, because she wants to be sure, because she doesn’t want to do anything that Hilda doesn’t want.

“Of course it is,” Hilda says, as if nothing else in the world could possibly be true. And then she smiles, and because she’s Hilda and somehow she always knows, she says: “Let me show you.”

Her hand comes down, joins Marianne’s between her legs. She covers Marianne’s hand with her own - about the same size, but Hilda’s cuticles are perfect, her nails flawless - and leads her, showing her where to touch, how to move. Marianne is mesmerized, learning all she can. 

Hilda moans when Marianne finds her clit. Her hand falls away. Marianne, encouraged, teases it with two fingers, drawing a true cry of pleasure from Hilda.

“Oh, Goddess -” she says, and there’s no faking the breathlessness in her voice, the need, “more, Marianne, please.”

And so Marianne gives her more, because it would be impossible for her to do anything else. She watches, entranced, as Hilda writhes beneath her attentions, arching when she flicks her clit, moaning when she presses a finger inside her.

And then she can’t help it anymore, and she raises her hand to her mouth, licks Hilda’s juices off her fingers.

Hilda is watching her, and her eyes widen.

“You taste - good,” Marianne says, and she means it, and then she slides herself down to settle between Hilda’s legs.

She’s never done this before, but in some ways it feels almost natural. She wants to taste more of Hilda, and she knows this can be good, even if she’s never done it before. She knows now where Hilda likes to be touched, and it’s the easiest thing in the world to put her mouth to those places instead, to taste her, to lick her.

So she does. One finger is still inside Hilda, and she presses another in, moving those fingers within her. She flattens her tongue against Hilda’s clit and she hears Hilda moan above her, feels Hilda’s hips move back against her, and that’s the encouragement she needs. That’s what tells her she’s doing the right thing, doing exactly what she wants to be doing.

It’s only then that Marianne realizes how wet she is, how much her body aches. She doesn’t think about it. She moves her free hand down between her legs, slipping it into her panties, now soaked with evidence of her own desire. She touches herself like she’d been touching Hilda earlier - not like how she’s touched herself in the past. That was all a simple need for release, a mechanical motion. This is - this is something else, a desire to feel the pleasure she’s giving, a need to find that peak, to share something with the woman she’s with.

She finds a rhythm, her tongue working on Hilda, her fingers moving inside Hilda’s pussy, her other hand on herself. Hilda’s legs are spread wide, taut with tension, and she isn’t quiet - she’s crying out now, and Marianne thinks she can hear her name.

It encourages her, urges her on, and she buries herself in Hilda, licking her, tasting her, fucking her. Hilda arches against her and then she cries out, shuddering, and the mere knowledge that she’s made Hilda come is enough to push Marianne over the edge, enough to send an intense shock of pleasure through her as she finds release, her fingers slick and sticky within her folds. 

Even though it’s her own hand, even though she’s done this before, somehow it feels better than it ever has before. She’s breathless, panting from the pleasure of it, and so is Hilda, and when she pulls back she finds she can’t look away. Hilda looks so beautiful, flushed and wanton, breasts heaving as she tries to catch her breath, looking up at Marianne.

“ _Wow_ ,” she says, and reaches out to pull Marianne in and kiss her, heedless of the slickness on Marianne’s lips, her face. They kiss, and Hilda tugs Marianne close so they’re pressed together. “Never had a lover before, huh? I must be the luckiest girl in the world.”

Marianne presses her face into Hilda’s neck, hiding her blush, hiding how good it feels to hear that. How good all of this has felt, after so long believing she could never have it. “I’d like to. Um. Learn how to make you feel… good.” It’s muffled against Hilda’s skin, and she feels Hilda laugh, hears it softly.

“I don’t think you really need to learn, Marianne,” Hilda says. “You’ve already got it down. _But,_ ” and here she pulls away so that she can meet Marianne’s eyes, so that they can look at each other, “if it means you in my bed every night, I’d be happy to teach you.”

“Yes,” Marianne says, and her voice is steady even though she can’t believe it, can’t believe this is happening, can’t believe that it’s real. “That’s what it means.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Hilda says. She sounds breathless, and she kisses Marianne again and pulls her close, and then they’re all wrapped up in each other and the world feels perfect, the night feels perfect.

For once, Marianne feels perfect.


End file.
